Dreamers
by Niger Aquila
Summary: Unwilling to stay at the Hog's Head while Hogwarts is under attack, two young Ravenclaws return to the school to join the final battle.


Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: As I said in my profile, I have not read anything HP-related in a long time, so I apologise if I got any details wrong. Also apologise for how grim this story turned out to be.

* * *

"The Great Hall is just down this way," said Stewart.

"There's a lot of noise," said Orla. "The Death Eaters must have broken in already."

Stewart swallowed. His shoulders were tensed. His hand, holding his wand, was shaking badly.

"Ready?" asked Orla.

She did not think he was ready, but he nodded and together they walked down the corridor. The sound of the battle got louder and louder. The crashes and the screams. The shouting of spells. Some Orla could not recognise. Some she could. And among them was —

Stewart stopped. "That's… that's the Killing Curse."

"Yes, that's the Killing Curse," said Orla.

They stood there for a long moment, unsure of what to do. Orla tightened her grip on her wand. Her hand was shaking too, she realised.

"We came back to fight," said Stewart. It sounded more like a question than a statement.

"We did," said Orla.

She sounded equally uncertain. Even now, a part of her wanted to sneak back out through the portrait and into the Hog's Head at Hogsmeade, where they were supposed to be with all the other underaged students, away from danger.

Ravenclaws were rational and logical. They made decisions based on facts and knowledge, not blind courage. And the fact was, they were only fourteen. They could not possibly do anything against the Death Eaters. If they stayed at Hogwarts, they could be hurt. They could be _killed_.

"Orla."

Orla looked back at Stewart. His face was pale. There was fear in his eyes, but there was also determination.

"We came back to fight," he said again.

Orla met his gaze, and found herself repeating after him. "We came back to fight."

The fact was, Hogwarts was under attack. Their professors and many of the older students were trying to protect the school, knowing it was dangerous but choosing to stay and fight regardless.

The fact was, Hogwarts had already changed so much in the past year, with Snape and the Carrows changing the curriculums and punishing anyone who disobeyed them. For the first time, Orla found herself feeling unsafe at the school. The Great Hall had become unbearably quiet during mealtime. The professors had tried to act as if nothing was wrong, but everyone could see how tensed and worried they were.

Orla missed the time when Professor Dumbledore had been Headmaster. Back then, all she needed to worry about was her schoolwork. When she read books unrelated to her classes, she did so because she wanted to know more, not because she felt the need to learn how better protect herself.

If You-Know-Who won, Hogwarts would never return to the way it used to be. The younger students would never know the joy Orla had experienced during the first three years of her time here. The Muggle-borns would never even see Hogwarts again. Many of them were now in hiding, or had been caught and sent to Azkaban. And it was wrong.

What You-Know-Who was doing was _wrong_.

All Orla wanted was a world that made sense. She wanted to believe that good would always triumph over evil. But it might not. Not this time.

She had overhead Professor Flitwick saying that even with the combined efforts of all the professors, they could not possibly protect the school from both the Death Eaters and the creatures on You-Know-Who's side. She knew the Gryffindors believed that Potter had found a way to fix everything, but she just could not see _how_. You-Know-Who already controlled the Ministry, and everyone knew that with Professor Dumbledore gone, there was no one who could rival him in power.

Orla simply could not see how they could win. She had told Stewart as much after they had settled down to wait at the Hog's Head, hoping he had seen something she had not, but he had come to the same grim conclusion.

And then, with barely any words exchanged, they had both returned to Hogwarts.

The fact was, Orla had seen Neville Longbottom's messages on the walls — "Dumbledore's Army, Still Recruiting" — and she had ignored them. She could not say she regretted it. She admired what the Dumbledore's Army had been doing, but she was not a fighter. Defence had always been her worst subject, especially the practical part. She hated seeing people hurt because of her magic.

But there was no choice. Not anymore. Orla could feel that the end was approaching. If her side — and she did have a side, didn't she? — lost this battle, the last bit of resistance against You-Know-Who would be stamped out, and then it might all be over. Orla did not know how much she could help, but she had to fight. Even if they lost, she could at least say she had tried her best instead of staying away.

She reached for Stewart's hand — still clenching his wand and lightly trembling — and gave it a squeeze. She remembered doing the same before their very first class, when he had been so nervous that he could barely speak. Now, though, she was not sure if she was trying to calm him down, or to reassure herself that she was not alone. Whatever lay ahead, they would face it together.

Another loud crash came from the end of the corridor. Another shout of the Killing Curse. They met each other's gaze.

"Let's fight," said Orla.

Stewart nodded. "Let's fight."

* * *

A/N: For my fellow Hong Kongers.


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